


The one on a hot tin roof

by Trojie



Series: Stories that aren't about cats [5]
Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Explicit Language, First Time, Friendship, M/M, sexual orientation angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It looks like Handsome Bob's about to get sent down, and One Two doesn't want history to repeat itself. So he asks Bob back to his flat ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The one on a hot tin roof

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-read by Ineptshieldmaid and Photoclerk, to whom I owe great debts of gratitude.

One Two is not gay. He's not, and that's the truth. But when someone says things to you like Bob's said to him, things about how good they want to make you feel -- you can't just put that out of your mind.

After One Two's unfortunate drunk-dialing incident, the one where Bob talked him through a wank session like he hasn't had since he was a fucking teenager, they somehow go on like nothing's happened. He'd been antsy the next day, wondering when Bob was going to bring it up, when Bob was gonna say something, but Bob never did, just tipped him a wave when he came in the door of the Speeler as usual. One Two took Bob off his speed-dial though, just in case.

It's amazing, the way Bob can apparently just put it aside. One Two flinches around him for a day or so, and everyone looks at him as if he's mad, but Bob carries on like they're just mates, only ever just mates, as if he'd never said _'I'd pull my fingers out of you and push in, and you'd feel amazing-'_ and completely fucked up One Two's ability to have an honest wank ever again. Everything's just normal. Perfectly normal, but a coupla days and a few dozen hands of cards later, Mumbles wants a word.

'You and Bob had another domestic?' he asks, out in the back room. 'You two need to sort your shit out, okay?'

'Our shit, so far as we have shit, is sorted,' One Two says, crossing his arms. 'I dunno what you think you know, Mumbles, but me an' Bob, we're fine, alright?'

'You'd better be, my old son, because you me an' him've got a job tomorrow night.' Mumbles looks right pleased with himself. 'Easy money, usual thing.'

'Pantyhose facemasks and a big fuck-off fire-axe then?' asks One Two, hoping he doesn't have to remind Mumbles of how their last job like that ended up with Mumbles stealing a motorbike and Bob pulling a gun on a bunch of bystanders and One Two tied up on his own fucking bed by a pair of sadistic Chechen heavies.

'Nah, nah, even easier. We _are_ the security on this one, mate. All we have to do is show up, act natural, and drive off with a car full of cash.'

One Two gives this some thought. 'Sounds simple enough.'

'You'd better believe it, mate.'

***

Except it's not easy money, and it's not simple. The car gets tracked, and it leads to Handsome Bob.

Now, Handsome Bob does not drop his mates in it. But even with the money returned and Archy making sure all Bob's previous paperwork stays disappeared (he owes Bob a favour, after all), Bob's refusing to turn in Mumbles and One Two means he's looking at a two-stretch, and there's nothing anyone can do about it.

This time, no-one books him any bloody escorts. Mumbles and One Two have a silent, eye-contact-only argument in the Speeler in the afternoon of the day before Bob's hearing, which ends with One Two taking his car keys and going to pick Bob up from his mum's.

This is too familiar.

Bob's mum gives One Two a hard look when she answers the door, but she calls Bob out, kisses him goodbye on the cheek and doesn't cry - she's a tough one, old Bob's mum. She knows how the world works. Bob's wearing a faded grey t-shirt - it's too big for him, the neck wide over his collarbones and the sleeves coming down past his elbows - and his eyes are dark, like he hasn't slept. Details, details.

He gets in the car without saying a word, straps himself in. One Two's been here before, knows better than to tell Bob to cheer up this time, and so it's Bob who eventually breaks the silence. 'It's really gonna happen, isn't it,' he says.

'Looks that way,' One Two says. What else is he supposed to say? He's not about to lie.

'Fuck.'

'Bob-'

'Don't.'

Fuck. One Two is bad at these kinds of situations, but he has to say _something_. 'Bob, I- I just wanted t'say, that it's not gonna be the same without you around.'

'Cheers, One Two,' Bob says, not looking at him. 'Means a lot.' His voice is bland, sounds a lot like, if One Two pushes it, Bob'll start hyperventilating again like he did after coming out that time, the first time they sat in the car on Bob's last night as a free man.

Bob's fucking going to prison because he won't give up his mates. Bob's got every right to ask One Two for a right good send-off, specially after One Two's dicked him around, asking questions and phoning him drunk and rubbing one out to the sound of his voice, and never talking about it again.

Which doesn't mean never thinking about it again, because One Two has.

One Two tries again. 'Bob,' he says. 'About the other night-'

But Bob just shakes his head. 'I don't wanna talk about it, One Two. Leave it, please.'

Fuck this. One Two _owes_ Bob. He flicks the indicators, and changes direction. Bob's too busy staring into the middle distance, out his window, to notice where they're headed until they pull up outside One Two's flat.

'What's going on?' he asks warily as One Two turns off the engine. 'Mate, what's this?'

'You,' says One Two, 'are coming up to mine.' He clears his throat. 'And-'

Bob has his shoulders back against the car door, his eyes huge in his face. 'And nothing,' he says. 'Are you fuckin' drunk again?'

'Sober as a judge,' One Two says. 'Sober as a fucking judge, Bob. I know what I'm doin'.'

'No, you don't.' Bob's shaking his head like he doesn't even realise he's doing it. 'You don't know what you're doing, One Two, you really don't.'

'Look, will y'just come up and have a drink with me?'

Bob scrubs his hand across his face for a second, and One Two is suddenly fucking scared he's ballsed this up, but then Bob mutters 'Fine,' and he doesn't try to leg it when they get out of the car.

The only booze One Two has on hand is a coupla bottles of beer. They'll have to do. He hands one to Bob, who is hunched on the sofa.

'Christ Bob, calm down.'

Bob rolls the bottle between his palms. 'Can we just drink this and go?' he asks roughly. His t-shirt is pulled to one side, showing the space between his neck and his collarbone. One Two doesn't know why he notices things like this now, when he never would have before.

'You don't wanna stay?' One Two asks. He'd thought Bob might, y'know, see where this is going. He _wants_ Bob to see where this is going, because sure as hell, he doesn't want to have to say it.

'No, I don't wanna stay,' Bob says. 'You don't know what you're doing, One Two, and I don't want you to hate me in the morning.'

One Two isn't going to hate Bob. Even if he ends up hating the things Bob wants to do to him, which he might, he isn't going to hate Bob. He's half-hard in his trousers just thinking about _things_ , just wondering.

'I thought you might want-' One Two swallows, hard, but says '- me. Like you said.'

But Bob doesn't say a word. He keeps rolling the bottle from hand to hand, doesn't drink from it. Like he's waiting for One Two to say something else.

One Two doesn't want to say it, but he will, he'll say it if he has to. 'I can't stop thinking 'bout the things you said, over the phone that night,' he starts, trying to find ways to tell Bob it's okay. 'And I can't promise that I'll like it, or anything, but I have to know. And you're going away, and I don't want you to go away without-'

One Two has to stop talking then, because Bob has got up and in two short strides closed the space between them, and his mouth is over One Two's, and it is _nothing_ like kissing a bird and everything like how One Two thought it might be when he had Bob talking in his ear, telling him how good he was gonna make it.

Bob has one hand curved round the back of One Two's neck, and the other hand over One Two's hipbone, and he's hauling himself close. There's no give in him at all, he's a wall, hard as nails, which One Two's always known in a kinda abstract way - Handsome Bob did not exactly get into the Wild Bunch just by being quick on the accelerator pedal, oh no, he's a fucking hard case when he has to be, single-minded when he wants something - and there's a message in this, a warning.

After Bob's made certain One Two knows the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth and stubble, made sure that One Two couldn't mistake that for a snog with a girlfriend, he steps back. He doesn't move far, just a step, but he takes his hands off One Two's body, and he waits.

He doesn't lick or wipe his lips. They shine. One Two stares, lost for words.

'That's it,' Bob says, hoarse. 'That's all you're getting, One Two.' He steps back further, but he looks like he's forcing himself.

'Bollocks,' says One Two, pushing his luck. 'Think of it as a goin' away present, like. You think I won't say if I don't like it?' he says. Bob doesn't know what's good for him right now - One Two will help him out. He's not gonna let Bob talk himself out of it. 'If you want it, come and get it. You think you know what's best for me, eh Bobby-boy? Get the fuck over yourself.'

It feels like a fight, almost - One Two's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, squaring up to Bob, and Bob throws the first punch by hauling One Two in and kissing him again, mouth open like a bite and fingers tight like a bruise at the hinge of One Two's jaw. And he's _talking_ with it, muttering shit like the mouthy fucker he is.

'- this close, _this fucking close_ -' he's saying, mouth moving against One Two's, '- to throwing you down over your own fucking mattress-'

'So do it,' One Two says, cos he doesn't even know what to do with his own bloody hands, he's got one up against Bob's chest and the other dangling, useless, and someone's got to do something, and this is Bob's bloody party-

'- _God_ I hope you know what you're saying,' Bob says prayerfully, and then he does pull One Two back with him, round the corner into the bedroom. Bob's going backwards, hits the door with his shoulders, jerking One Two actually into his arms with the impact. They both pause for a moment, Bob's thigh pushing between One Two's legs, and Bob looking up the inch or so's difference in their heights to meet One Two's eyes, his eyelashes sweeping low. One Two swallows.

 _What the fuck, what the ever-loving fuck, are you doing, One Two?_ his brain asks him, and he doesn't really have an answer for it.

'Hey, you still with me?' Bob asks. One of his hands is going for the door handle, the other for One Two's arse. Last time Bob tried to cop a feel, One Two didn't let him. Now he wants to push back against Bob's palm, because he doesn't want Bob's smile to falter, because he just fucking wants to know. That's all this has ever been about, he just wants to _know_.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm-' One Two starts, and Bob grins, and the door handle gives in.

A few stumbling steps and Bob lands up on One Two's mattress with One Two on top, and he looks like he's won the pools. 'You said you were thinking about this,' Bob says, both hands on One Two's arse, thumbs under the waistband. 'You said you want-'

'Just fucking take it, would you?' One Two growls, propped up on his arms over Bob. 'I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, you're supposed to be the expert here. Just _do something_.'

Bob's face turns wicked and familiar for a second, and he stretches one hand up under One Two's shirt, splaying his fingers out along the skin. 'Hmm,' he says. 'Well, this has got to go.'

And it does. It goes flying, in fact, when Bob gets hold of it, and that's fine, Bob's seen One Two's chest before, but he's never closed his lips over one of One Two's nipples before. He hums for a moment, apparently sizing up One Two's reaction to it, before letting go. His fingers brush the hem of One Two's pants.

'D'you trust me?' Bob asks, and that's a fucking big question, isn't it.

One Two supposes he does. Trusts Bob with his life when there's guns and knives involved, and trusts him with his freedom; trusts him not to grass him up. So yeah, One Two trusts Bob. But when Bob waits for One Two's nod and then slides his fingers down past One Two's waistband to curve over his arse, then it takes all One Two's strength not to tense.

It's unfamiliar, yeah, but it makes One Two's already half-hard cock harden more, and One Two can't help a momentary flush of shame, because it's his mate down there that he's grinding against. Bob chuckles, deep in his throat, and spreads his fingers. 'Confusing, yeah?' he asks. 'I felt like that at first too. Like it's wrong, but that's part of why you like it.'

One Two stares down at him, trying not to think too hard. Bob stays perfectly still, but breathes, 'Good?' up at him, and One Two has to nod.

Bob sits up then, pushing One Two with him, and takes his own shirt off, then reaches for One Two's belt buckle. 'You gotta trust me,' he says again, rushed and earnest. 'I can make this so good for you mate, but you've gotta let me -'

His fingers are almost trembling. One Two can't take all this faffing around; it's waiting that's gonna make him bottle out if anything is, so he undoes his own fly and yanks his jeans off, then goes for Bob's. 'Fuckin' get _on_ with it, Bob,' he says, and he knows he sounds as rough as guts, but something about that makes Bob's eyes narrow, darken, and before One Two knows what's going on they're both stark bollock naked and he's back on top, with Bob's hands kneading his arse and Bob underneath him. One Two tries not to touch, tries to hold himself up, but Bob's hands pull him down a little, and once he's touched skin he can't bear not to keep doing it.

 _That's Bob's cock down there, One Two, next to yours, touching yours. The fuck are you doing, One Two?_ his head says, but he stops listening to it when Bob starts talking again.

'That's it, mate, that's it, you stay up there, right, and I'm just gonna-' he's saying as his fingers slide across.

One Two's eyes cross, because he hasn't put his own fingers there since Bob told him to on the phone that night, and it had just felt weird then anyway, but Bob's gentle, spreading One Two's arse so that he doesn't have to shove in. And it - he just rests the tip of one finger against One Two's arsehole and the sensation flicks right to One Two's cock. Christ.

'Feel that?' Bob is murmuring. 'Like that, mate, just like that -' and his finger traces soft and gentle, and he fumbles with his other hand in One Two's bedside cabinet and comes up with a half-empty bottle of hand-lotion. With nothing holding him but one finger barely brushing his skin, One Two realises why he's on top, why Bob's got him there - it's so that if he wants to get away there's nothing stopping him.

When even the pressure of that one finger leaves, One Two seriously considers legging it, nudity be damned. But … _'That's where I'll touch you, mate, work my fingers in you, and I bet you won't believe me, but I'll have you begging me to get in you by the end'_. Bob said it and One Two _just wants to know_ , but he can't help feeling like a cat on a fucking hot tin roof - he knows it'll burn his toes but the air's too good up here to make him get down.

Bob's breathing hard underneath him, and he's got his hands slicked now and that finger's back - One Two's spine goes hot and rigid, then melts like fucking butter as Bob's finger brushes, rubs, then _pushes_.

It's like … when you're just spotting a bird at a bar and you get closer for a butcher's, and then go over for a word and she puts her hand on your thigh, maybe, and you've spent enough time thinking about it that when she touches you, it's the anticipation that gets you. It's like that, like the first few times that happens, when you're just learning how to pull. It _promises_ , fucking links up with bits of One Two it shouldn't. One Two feels his eyes roll and clenches down on the noise that wants to make its way out, but he can't stop himself shoving back to get more of it.

That hurts, but not enough to make the feeling of something good on the horizon go away. Bob looks like One Two's punched him, though, when One Two gets up the bottle to peel his eyes open and look down.

'Christ,' Bob breathes, eyes heavy-lidded. 'Careful, there.' His cock is skidding against One Two's now, and he's pulling his finger back and then slowly pushing it in again, setting up a rhythm that's dancing over One Two's nerves. 'Take it easy,' Bob is saying, 'Let me take it slow, mate, let me-'

It's not how Bob said it would be - he's not making One Two feel it. Too fucking careful, too fucking slow, too much opportunity for One Two to talk himself out of this thing. Pushing back again, One Two realises Bob's wrist is crooked up tight so that he can reach One Two's arse, an awkward angle that must be painful, and that Bob still thinks he's gonna run away.

Not gonna happen.

One Two wets his lips, which is harder than it sounds, and says 'Bob.'

Bob stills his fingers, starts to slide them out, and he clearly expects One Two to scarper. So One Two waits til he's free, and then takes him by the shoulders and rolls them, wriggles til he's on his front underneath his mate. Christ, but he feels exposed like that. To cover it up, he says, 'C'mon, Bob.'

'Are you-'

'Yes, I'm fucking sure, Bob.'

He feels Bob's skin drag over his, and then Bob's pulling his head round and kissing him again. His cock is hot against the small of One Two's back and his tongue is deep in One Two's mouth and it finally feels like Bob, the Handsome Bob he knows, that cocky fucker they used to dare to chase after girls just to see how fast he could land 'em, that bit of rough Mumbles set on Bertie, that voice down the phone that made One Two come hard just by saying the right words. The kiss is fucking _filthy_.

Bob breaks it just before One Two's neck has a chance to cramp. 'Lie down,' he growls with a smirk in his voice, and One Two does what he's fucking well told as Bob slides back down his body.

Bob's hands are still smooth and slicked, and this time he's not teasing, and he _does_ know what he's bloody well doing. One Two buries his face in the pillow and bites.

'Oh no, mate,' Bob says, two fingers buried deep and moving steady. 'You've gotta let me know how it feels.' He adds a third finger and twists somehow, and even the pillow won't muffle One Two's 'Jesus _fuck_ '.

Bob's other hand is rubbing One Two's shoulder coaxingly. He laughs low in his lungs and keeps stroking, keeps making One Two swear and twist until the bloody pillow gets pushed sideways off the bloody mattress and his fingers are twisted in the sheets. He wants _more_ , but he knows what more means. More means Bob inside him. More is the point of no fucking return.

'How's that?' Bob asks, that fucking sadist.

One Two groans.

'Nah, c'mon. What's that supposed to mean?'

Bob stops moving his fingers, and One Two snarls. 'Fuck it, Bob. _Please_...'

'Please what?'

 _Please get inside me, please Bobby-boy,_ is what One Two can't say. _There's condoms in the drawer_ , is another thing he doesn't add, but fucking should.

'You _know_ what,' he manages. 'You fucking well know what, Bob.'

Bob's fingers start to withdraw, and One Two almost whimpers, because he can't stop now. There's a long moment of _fuck, fuck, what's -_ and then there's foil tearing, a sharp intake of breath from Bob, and then:

Something else where Bob's fingers were, and Bob's weight is draped down One Two's back. Point of no return ...

'Don't tense up,' Bob says in One Two's ear. 'S'okay, I know what you want, I won't let you down, but don't tense up, mate. C'mon, easy does it,' and he braces himself on one arm over One Two's body, and pushes.

Hell, but he goes slow. One Two's never gone this slow with a bird but then, he's never done this to a bird: it's tight and hard, and he isn't sure he wants it to go any faster anyway. He grits his teeth and does his best to do what Bob says and not tense up.

The loudest thing in the room becomes Bob's breathing, and when he finally gets himself all the way in there he makes this disbelieving noise. One Two is quivering like a jelly below him because somehow Bob managed to find that place again and drag over it on the way in.

'You right?' Bob rasps. One Two nods into the mattress, and then arches desperately as Bob pulls slowly out again, then in.

'Fuck, Bob -' One Two says. ' _Fuck_ ,'

'Yeah. Yeah, I know.'

'Just -'

'I know.'

If Bob touches One Two now, One Two is going to go off like a fucking firecracker, and Bob seems to know that because he hauls himself tight and close and reaches round. 'Gonna make you come,' he says. 'Wanted to, Christ, so long, One Two. Told you I'd make it good. Is it good, mate?'

'Yeah, Bob, it's - it's good, _please_ -' One Two isn't generally much of a talker in the bedroom but it's Bob, if Bob wants to have a conversation -

Bob goes harder, deeper, shifts up a fucking gear or something cos now he's making One Two's breath come short and loud with every push. One Two's spine knots up tight as he tries to match Bob's thrusts, and Bob's hand slides between One Two's legs. 'C'mon,' Bob says, and One Two is suddenly making a mess all over his sheets, eyes rolling back, filthy language he barely realises he's using spewing from his mouth, and Bob’s pounding him through it until he suddenly stills, and there's this weird pulsing inside One Two, making him shiver and gasp again, and he realises: Bob's done. Bob's. He and Bob …

It's too much. When Bob pulls out One Two just goes boneless into the mattress and the wet spot. He twists enough to watch Bob tie the condom off and throw it in the rubbish bin in the corner, and drag on his jeans and his stupid fucking t-shirt. One Two wants to ask Bob to stay.

He doesn't, though. He says, 'Hey,' when it looks like Bob is just going to walk out the door. 'Where d'you think you're going?'

'Boys'll be down the Speeler,' Bob says, shrugging. 'They're gonna be a bit suspicious if I never show, mate. And you're not the only person I wanna say goodbye to.'

'M'coming,' One Two says, and casts blindly around for his pants. Bob chucks them at his head, gives him ten minutes to haul his clothes on.

One Two knows he looks well-fucked. He drags a hand through his hair and tries to get the remainder of the gel in it to make it behave. Bob has no bloody hair, and he always looks faintly smug anyway, so he'll probably pass muster to everyone but Mumbles.

Fuck, Mumbles. He'll know, psychic bastard.

This time, Bob takes the keys. He's happier in the driver's seat anyway. And now One Two can never have that thought ever again, because it'll make him think of other things.

The Speeler's as packed as it ever gets, everyone wanting to say bye to Bob. Mumbles sidles up to One Two and slaps him on the arse and tells him well done, which he could have done without, actually.

And at the end of the night, Bob drives One Two home, because he's fucking wankered.

'Look, One Two,' he says, stopping the engine. 'Thanks, and all.’

One Two waves it aside.

'And don't take this the wrong way, but don't come to my hearing tomorrow,' Bob adds. Off One Two's puzzled face, he says, 'You didn't come to my last one, and I got off, didn't I. Maybe my luck'll hold.' One Two rolls his eyes. Bob laughs, and then his face turns serious again. 'And if it doesn't, I don't wanna spend two years remembering you watchin' me get sent down, okay? I wanna remember this,' he says. 'Please, mate.' He leans down, and gently kisses One Two on the mouth.

One Two lets him, for a second, and then pulls away. 'Yeah, well,' he says, 'If you forget it, you aren't getting a second round, okay Bobby-boy?' which is the first thing that comes to mind. Sounded a lot funnier in One Two's head.

Bob snorts. One Two punches him on the shoulder, and gets out of the car.

He doesn't hear it pull away until he's shut his front door, and wonders vaguely if he should have looked back. He doesn't go to the hearing - he spends the day hungover as fuck buried under sheets that stink of sweat and him and Bob.

One Two does go to the Speeler that night, though, just in case Bob's luck held.


End file.
